


Fallen Angel

by Lokisgame



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Developing Friendships, Episode: s01e09 Fallen Angel, F/M, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-21
Updated: 2019-04-21
Packaged: 2020-01-23 14:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18551725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: In the end, he didn't get arrested.





	Fallen Angel

**Author's Note:**

> for @ghosttoast

In the end, he didn't get arrested.   
Sitting on top of an oil barrel, Mulder watched the military, pack their bags and clear out. Max was gone, his only evidence gone. All he had left was a set of aches and pains and his word.  
"Mulder?" Scully's voice came from somewhere behind him, heels clicking slowly against concrete until she stood before him, forcing him to look away, not ready to face her stare.   
"Are you okay?"  
"Flash of light and he was gone, Scully, just like that."   
"I know you wanted to help him, you did all you could."  
He didn't say anything, suddenly aware of exactly what it was, that he had done. His actions not only didn't bring any truth to light or yield any proof, but quite possibly costed them both, their jobs. He didn't feel like laughing about Scully's last detail anymore, she deserved better than that.  
"We should get out of here, too," she said finally.   
Mulder sighed heavily, hopped down from his perch and a sharp stab off pain shot through his ankle, killing his balance. Arms reached out, he tried to catch his fall, Scully was quicker though. Small frame braced, arm around his middle, hand on his chest, she held him up.   
"What's wrong?" Being a foot shorter, it was quite a catch.  
"My ankle," he hissed through gritted teeth, trying to keep his weight off the leg, inevitably leaning on her further. "I must've landed badly, earlier."  
"We need to get you to a hospital."   
Scully tried to pull him forward, but he held his ground. Call it stubbornness or male pride, but if he could walk before, he could do it now. Gingerly lowering his foot, he tried to stand. It hurt, but he just might make it. "No need, I can walk."   
"Mulder."  
"I must've pulled something, it's not that bad,” and to prove it, he took a cautious step, winced, took another, winced less. "See, all good."   
"We already missed our flight," she said, resigned, "no need to hurry."   
That stung, but she never let him go, supporting his balance with one arm around his waist.  
"How deep in are we?"   
"I don't know," she sighed, leading him out of the warehouse, step after painful step. "Let's just get out of here." 

Mulder tried to brave through it, but by the time they landed in D.C., his ankle was swollen and throbbing. Waves of pain pulsed in time with his heartbeat and it hurt to even think about walking.   
"Get in the chair, Mulder," Scully said, standing next to a wheelchair and a tall, blonde flight attendant.  
A sympathetic smile, played around the girl's gorgeous mouth, and the fact that it made no impression, was probably a symptom too, though of what, Mulder wasn't quite sure.   
He pushed himself up, using armrests for support, and almost fell into Scully's arms, letting her guide his fall into the seat.   
"Can you handle the bags?" She asked cautiously, and when he nodded, their carry-on landed in his lap.   
She knelt by the chair, fixing foot plates and tucking in loose shoelaces, so they wouldn't tangle with wheels, then looked up, concern etched between her brows. "Not too heavy?”  
Mulder shook his head meekly, past the stage of aching-annoyed-petulant-kid. Resting one hand on his knee, she gave him a reassuring smile.  
"I'm taking you to the ER," she said, "you'll be fine."   
Her mantra made him smile back a little, even if he had no reason for it whatsoever. She was probably glad, that it might be the last time, she would have to take care of his sorry ass.  
They didn't talk, when the girl escorted them off the plane, or when they rolled through the terminal, drawing curious stares. 

She drove him to a hospital in Alexandria and again in her element, he watched her, as she made suggestions, looked through results to draw accurate conclusions before the doctors even began to wonder what went wrong. She was a great doctor, confident and competent, leaving Mulder baffled, as to why would she give that up. To cut up corpses and chase after someone like him, for probably less than half, of what any of the doctors in room earned. Maybe she would be better off, no reason to drag her along with him.   
"Good news," she said walking in after what felt like a small eternity. Cup of water in one hand, pills in the other, she declared. "It's not sprained or broken."   
Mulder held out his palm and downed the meds, chasing them with a gulp off water, no questions asked as to what he was taking.   
"Can I go home now?"   
"I will take you home, yes," she laughed, "you can forget about driving, and you'll need to use crutches for at least a week."   
"No brace?"  
"Would you agree to one?"   
"Do I have to?" He couldn't help the whine.   
"It would help, but no, if you promise to use crutches, you don't."   
"Then I'll use crutches."   
"Okay, we just have to wait a minute to get them. I filled your prescription too."   
"Have you called the office?"   
"I have," she sighed, hoping onto the examination table beside him, "I managed to talk them out of firing us summarily, and push the hearing until tomorrow."   
"Thanks."   
"It's not over yet."   
"But if it is, thank you, and," he sighed, looking at her hand resting between them, "I'm sorry."   
"I'm a big girl," she said, sitting a little straighter, "I understood the consequences of my actions."   
"You were pretty awesome back there, at the hospital." Mulder said, bumping shoulders with her lightly, "you can always go back to doing that."   
"Or I can stay, and keep saving your ass." She smiled and pushed back. "I like working with you."   
"You do?"  
"Is that so hard to believe?"   
Mulder opened his mouth to answer, but then an orderly walked in to fit his crutches for him. 

He fell asleep in the car, but Scully found her way easily enough.  
Parking against the curb she got out, and gathering the bag from the trunk and crutches from the back seat, mentally prepared herself for the inevitable. She's never been here before, but with her luck, there would definitely be a few flights of stairs to climb.   
Balancing the crutches against the side of the car, she opened the passenger door and shook Mulder's shoulder lightly. He woke up with a start, half dazed, half frantic.  
"Where are we?"  
"At your place," she said, leaning inside to unbuckle his seatbelt, "c'mon, let's get you inside."   
"Just give me the crutches, I can walk," he mumbled, earning a humourless chuckle. She stepped back to give him space, hand reached out, taken, and pulled him to his feet.  
"You're funny, I'm not going back to the ER."  
Mulder stumbled, leaned on her, but remained standing, making it go rather smoothly. Scully added two floors to her calculations and led him up the path.   
"I can do this, you know."   
"I know," she said, not making any move to let go.  
Together they climbed the four steps to the front door. Scully reached for the handle, pulled, Mulder grabbed the edge, opening them wide enough to let them both through, then did the same with the one inside, exemplary team work.   
"Oh good, elevator," Scully sighed, relieved, pushing the call button, just when Mulder wobbled. Braced, she focused again.   
"You okay?"   
"Yeah, just got dizzy for a second."   
"We're almost there." Doors opened and they stepped inside.   
"4th floor, end of the hall." Mulder said, leaning heavily on the laminated wall.   
Numbers above began blinking on and off. The elevator smelled like Chinese takeout and wet dog, making her wonder if they came as a package deal.  
"You lived here long?"   
"Couple years," he said, as if struggling to stay awake.  
Scully made a note to herself; pain killers worked on him hard and fast. Mulder looked pale and the bruise on his cheekbone already began to change colour from red to purple, but when he looked up, he managed a faint, tired smile.   
The elevator chimed and doors opened to a warmly lit corridor.   
"C'mon, last stretch," she said, reaching out and hiding the blush.   
Walking down the hall, one arm around her, and the bag over his shoulder, Mulder patted his. pockets and fished out a bunch of keys. Jiggling and jingling them, echoing in the late night hush, until he held the right one up. Scully took it and unlocked the last doors on the left, flicking the lights on.   
Suddenly Mulder seemed to gain a ton, resting it against her shoulder. She had mind enough to lean the crutches against the wall and spot a couch in the room farthest from the door, charting quickest route past the kitchen and around the table, over clean, hardwood floors. They shuffled together, step by slow and wobbly step.   
"There you go," she sighed finally, lowering him gently to the seat, but quickly grabbing his shoulders sensing him ready to topple over.   
"No, don't fall down yet," she chuckled, trying to wrestle him out of the leather jacket.  
"Let me sleep," Mulder muttered and she laughed a bit.   
"Then work with me."   
Leaning forward, head resting against her chest, he twisted his arms free of the sleeves and pushed the jacket to the floor, just in time for Scully to catch his fall. With one hand supporting his head and the other pulling a pillow down, she made sure he wouldn't slip to the floor, then moved on to his shoes.   
Mulder hissed when she pulled the right one off, ankle still swollen, so he got one more pillow, to keep it elevated as comfortably as possible.   
Heading for the kitchen, she gathered the shoes and jacket, leaving them by the door, one on a coat hanger, other on the floor. The fridge was basically empty, nothing but a lone takeout carton and some mouldy cheese, not even beer or a forgotten can of Pepsi. She had a little more luck with the freezer, finding a bag of peas that remembered spring of '91, if she'd bother to read the expiration date on the back.   
Folding the bag in a kitchen towel and crushing its' contents into something more pliable, she went to administer the cold compress, bringing the crutches along, so that he wouldn't need to hop around the place looking for them. Mulder stirred at the cold, but nothing more, too tired to fight anymore, and noticing a blanket folded on the chair, she spread it over him, tucking in the corners and finally sitting down, on the floor, to look around and rest for a bit.  
The place looked warm, surprisingly so. Not overly messy, with a few pictures on the walls, some books and knickknacks; a simple but comfortable home for a man who lived for his work. She wasn't quite sure what she expected though, so she let it go, turning to her unconscious host.   
All the running around, chasing vague hints and outlandish theories with such conviction, while being threatened and beat up, would wear anyone down. Still, she couldn't say, that his cause wasn't just. People have died. Would their families be treated like the family of the deputy that died the first night? Bullied into silence, never knowing what really happened to their loved ones?   
Mulder's passion for truth seemed almost blinding, making him ready to sacrifice his job, his health, life even, in pursuit of answers to questions, few had bothered or had the courage to ask. Mulder had that courage, and she admired it, the rebel inside her loved that about him. But what good was a flame, if it burned out too bright, too fast.   
"Who takes care of you?" She asked quietly, brushing a strand of hair of his forehead.   
She still knew very little about him, but one thing was clear; Fox Mulder was a cause worth fighting for. 

Spotting a legal pad and a pen on the coffee table, Scully scribbled a short message, leaving it where he would find it, and got up to leave.  
Rummaging through her purse for a key that's been poking and scratching her hand for weeks, she clipped it to her own set of keys. Finally calm, flicking the lights off, she left the apartment, closing the doors behind her with a soft click of a turning lock.  
The label on the key said simply, "Mulder."


End file.
